


Q o' Clock

by LarksEve



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Possible Explicit Sexual Content, Random - Freeform, idek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarksEve/pseuds/LarksEve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random fill-ins/prompts revolving around our lovable tea-chugging Quartermaster. Will contain 00Q because damn if that doesn't come up eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Q o' Clock

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing in his fandom, and most of these are posted as solos for RP since that's the most accessible workspace I have at the moment. Feel free to send in prompts if you have any; that would please my muses quite a lot. :D

Q ambles out of bed, more out of necessity than the biological need to wake, thirst that much of an impetus to propel him away from the cozy nest of his blankets. He makes a wobbling bee line to the kitchen where he grabs—more like catches, and almost by accident—a glass and angles it under the tap, grumbling when the water does not quite comprehend it should go inside and not over his hand. Screw coordination; it's too bloody early in the day for anything reasonably permissible like motor skills anyway.

He takes a long drink like he had been stuck in an oasis for days, and once his throat settles from the sudden influx of a raging river, he leaves the glass in the sink with a thin sigh.

Turning his head, he immediately regrets it: on the island sits a calendar, screaming the day's digits in big bold fonts. So enthusiastic he could just shoot the bloody thing. Q groans with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh sod off."

Thankfully, calendars don't answer back.

There is, in fact, a reason why his body wants to get an early start, but he was more than determined to override those commands. It's easy—just sleep, and he had been somewhat of a master at that these days. And today is no exception; in fact, today is _the_ day he has every excuse to skip the next eighteen-something hours without feeling any semblance of remorse.

It's Saturday, and he's at home. Zero Dark Thirty, sums up just about everything: The dreary prospects of having no life on the day that marks his third decade.


End file.
